Day and Night
by Golden Raindrops
Summary: Four installments, four couples, four moments. Sunrise, sunset, midnight, noon. Two: Midnight. "I was obsessed with you for a good four years. Do you honestly think I'm telling you no?" Harry/Ginny. My first venture into the Harry Potter fandom.
1. I: Sunrise

So here's my first venture into the HP fandom, tell me if you like and where to improve. If you notice that the italics in the story have no spaces between them, sorry. Something's messed up with this computer that doesn't put spaces between words in italic and bold. And it won't put in line breaks either.

~thisisaline~

James wakes up early. One second, his eyes are shut and he's in deep sleep. Next second, they flash open. He's woken abruptly, with a strange unsettled feeling that he knows well. He's been dreaming again.

He shuts his eyes and tries to remember the last fleeting thought before his consciousness surfaced. He can't though. It's gone, like a breath of wind. This seems to be becoming a theme. None of his dreams seem to stay with him anymore.

Not that he really wants them to. They probably aren't very pleasant dreams, what with the war and all. But it leaves him feeling as though he's left something unfinished that wants an ending to it. Like wanting to read the end of a story, but having the book snatched away. He must have woken up before the dream ended.

James shivers. A cold draft of morning air comes through the window, which he had opened slightly the night before. The first rosy wisps of dawn are spreading across the dusky sky. He wraps the quilt around his lanky frame. He doesn't see any sense in staying awake. He might as well go back to bed. Although he knows he won't get back to sleep.

Five restless minutes later, James throws off the covers and sits up, and realizes just how cold the room is. Bloody September and its unpredictable weather. He puts on his glasses and tugs the window shut.

He stands up, washes, and dresses in his school robes. There. He's all ready for the day to start. Only time seems not to want to cooperate with him today. It's still too early for anyone else in Gryffindor Tower to be up.

James plucks a Quidditch magazine off his table and flips through the main article ("Exclusive Interview with Ballycastle Bats Captain: New Keeper Revealed!"). He tosses it back onto the table and reaches for something else to occupy his time. He comes up with his Transfiguration essay, on the subject of various forms of human Transfiguration, and a quill.

He scans over it and makes sure there are no errors. There aren't, none he can spot anyway. The essay joins the magazine in the clutter on his desk. James chews on the end of the quill absentmindedly. What else is there to do?

James stands up suddenly. He can't take sitting in this room anymore. He's become strangely restless recently. He's not quite sure why either. Maybe it's a side effect from war and such other impending crises.

He paces the room for a quick minute and then opens the door decidedly. He'll just go and wait in the common room until Sirius and Remus and the rest wake up. Or go read _Quidditch__Teams__of__Britain__and__Ireland_ again. Something like that.

James slings his school bag around his shoulder, stuffs the Transfiguration essay and his Quidditch book into it, and steps into the hallway of the Heads' dormitory.

The new dorm is quite a step up from the old one, he thinks. A bedroom all to himself. Private bathrooms and the shared study. And of course, there are other things. Such as the girl who he happens to be sharing this living space with…no, he won't go there. He's not going to relive all those disasters again. Clearly, she doesn't want him.

The thoughts have brought him to a standstill, but it's not another moment until he realizes just where he's stopped. His thoughts have brought him to Lily Evans's doorway. The door is ajar and the lights are off, the room inside only lit by the rising sun. She is nowhere to be seen, which means…_oh,__bloody__god._

James's eyes travel up the doorframe until they rest on the figure standing in the doorway. She doesn't look like she wants to kill him yet. That's a good start, considering his record.

"Hello," he says rather meekly. It's most uncharacteristic of him too…but then, this is Lily Evans he's talking to.

"Hi," she replies. "I didn't know anyone else was up this early."

She's not yelling at him. It takes a minute for him to process this; he's so used to the opposite.

"Neither did I," he says. "I guess we're both wrong."

She smiles slightly. "I guess so."

They are _talking_. _They_are talking. Civilly. Almost like a _conversation_. A normal conversation with Lily. _Well._This year seems to be taking a more pleasant turn than the ones before it.

She's saying something to him. What is she saying?

"James?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah?"

She smiles a real, full smile this time, showing her white, even teeth. She has the most amazing smile and her lips are so perfect…no, he's not going there. He's losing himself again. That is not going to happen.

"I was asking if you wanted to come in."

"Come…in?" He knows he sounds like an idiot, but who can blame him? It's not as though he's used to this.

"Yeah, inside, you know?" She steps aside and gestures to the doorway.

"Sure." He follows her into the room, thinking to himself how unnatural this is. From day one at Hogwarts, the interactions of James and Lily had been like one of the laws of nature. The sun rises every day. Everything that goes up must come down. James Potter and Lily Evans do not agree.

Her room is in the same basic style of his, in the sense that the bed, desk, bathroom, and closet are all in the same place as in his room. But the room is so full of her personality, he thinks. It's so _Lily_.

The room is bright and a sort of balance between clean and messy. Pictures, posters, drawings cover the walls. And they're very good paintings, James notices. He wonders if she did them.

Lily goes over to a spot in front of the window and flops down on the floor, and looks up to see James still standing there.

"Sit down," she says, her lips curving ever so slightly to see James standing there so nervously, as though she's about to bite his head off. "Make yourself at home." He sits tentatively on the edge of her bed.

He watches her as she turns to something on the floor and becomes absorbed in it. On further inspection, he sees that it's a sketchbook.

"So," he says, trying to break the silence that has fallen over the room.

"So…"

"So…" He can't just keep saying 'so'; he must look so idiotic. "Er…I didn't know you draw."

Lily sits up and faces him. "Yeah, I do, I suppose. A bit."

"A bit?"

"Yeah…occasionally." She looks up at him to see him staring with wide, revering eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that, it's not as though it's so wonderful."

"What are you drawing now?"

She holds the sketchbook up to him. "Come and see."

He moves over and kneels down beside her, and his eyes widen. The page is a glorious blend of reds and oranges, yellows and pinks, purples and grays.

Lily has drawn the sunrise.

"Wow," he breathes.

"Thanks." She grins and he grins back. A moment of understanding.

"That's amazing. Wonderful."

"Not really."

"Did you do the paintings on the walls too?" Of course she did. Though he has never seen her paint, he knows that they are her work as well as he knows an essay written in Remus's hand is his, or that the lines of the Marauder's Map were written by Sirius.

"Er, yes."

"Then it _is_wonderful," he declares.

"Oh, stop it, Potter," she says. "It's not something so extraordinary."

Oh. Back to Potter now. It's a shame; he did rather like how she said James.

"Can I look at them?"

"Feel free," she replies, not taking her eyes off the sketchbook. He rises from the bed and walks to the other side of the room. He raises a hand and fingers the edge of a drawing. Lily really is a talented artist.

The people in the paintings and drawings are incredibly lifelike. He notices that Lily has written the names of her subjects in the bottom corner of the papers and canvases. He can recognize them all without looking, though: there's Mary McDonald and Hestia Jones and Lily in a group hug; Marlene McKinnon with her pet cat; Sirius; Peter; and there's even one of him and Remus.

He marvels at how clearly she can capture the images. Though he and Remus are both bent over a book in the drawing, he can clearly tell it's them. But most of all, James marvels that Lily has drawn _him_. Of all people. And put the picture up on her wall. If that doesn't spell suspicious…

Now he comes to a picture he doesn't fully recognize. Two girls, one slightly older than the other, are hugging each other and laughing. Behind them are a man and woman, both looking cheerful. The picture radiates warmth and joy. It clearly shows a happier time.

One of the girls is clearly Lily. The long, wavy hair; the vibrant eyes are the same. But as for the others, he doesn't know.

"Lily," he says. "Who are these in this picture?"

She looks up, and immediately James knows he has said the wrong thing. The worst possible wrong thing to say. And for the second time this morning, he thinks _oh,__bloody__god._

Her face has gone very white and all closed up. Her brilliant emerald eyes are no longer dancing. When she speaks, her voice is quiet.

"Those are my parents." She hesitates. "And my sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister." Even better. Each sentence sounds worse than the one before.

"Yeah, well…" She stops, and James sees she's considering how much to tell him. "Her name's Petunia."

Without warning, she breaks into silent tears.

James finds himself in a very awkward position. One side of him wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, stroke her hair, comfort her, tell her everything is going to be okay. On the other hand, a part of him is afraid it'll make things worse. That she'll get angry at him or something.

Eventually, the comforting side of him takes over and he drops down beside her shaking form. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Lily."

She looks up; a half-glance.

"Want to talk about it."

She nods, vigorously and launches into shaky words. "This last summer…there was a car accident. And they- and they- and they…"

James puts a tentative arm around her, knowing what the words that don't want to come out of her mouth are. "Shhhh. It's okay." But he knows it's not. Not for her anyway. And he didn't even know.

"Was your sister also…"

She seems to understand his question. "No. No. That's not it." She breaks down again and he holds her closer, one hand brushing her dark red hair.

"She hates me."

It catches him off guard and his head snaps up. "What?"

"She hates me. Petunia. For being a witch, and for having magic, and- and because I couldn't stop it from happening!" she sobs. "We were so close, before everything. And then…"

"Lily. It'll be okay."

Lily looks up again. "What do you mean?"

"Your sister will see," he continues. "She'll see that she's wrong to hate you soon enough. No one could really hate a person like you. You're too sweet and kind and considerate and talented and funny and- and perfect." His voice stops abruptly.

"I'm not perfect. No one is perfect."

He turns her face to him. "You are to me."

There is a pin drop silence. The tension in the room is stretched tight for one second, two seconds. James thinks he'd best leave before he makes a complete idiot of himself.

"Thanks."

"Wh-what?" Hold on. Those are not the words he was expecting. This isn't right. At this point, Lily should be yelling at him for trying to ask her out again.

"I said thanks."

Silence, again. This silence is more confused, as though they are both trying to process each others' words. Then she speaks, at last.

"You know, you're pretty close to perfection yourself."

And the tension breaks. They are in understanding, and she leans against him and it's happiness all through. They sit together in blissful silence as they watch the sunrise, and his fingers dance through her brilliant red hair.

For now, at least, they will be okay.


	2. II: Midnight

How did you all like Chapter One? Well, here's installment number two. Sorry that the paragraphs aren't indented, that's another glitch with FF. Enjoy!

~thisisaline~

_ Ding, ding ,ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding._

The clock chimes twelve. Midnight. The Burrow is no longer the busy and slightly chaotic place it is during daylight hours, but it is not completely silent either. The ghoul moans in the attic above them. Ron is snoring in the next bed. He grunts, mumbles something about a spider, and turns over, in deep sleep again.

Harry wishes he could be asleep like that, but he isn't, and it's really annoying him. They've all been working to rebuild Hogwarts nearly the whole day, and it's left him dead tired, even though they've been using magic. McGonagall thinks it'll take another month. He sincerely hopes it'll be sooner.

Unfortunately his brain does not agree with his tired body. Visiting his old school has brought back too many memories, and it does not want to go to sleep. He checks his watch.

Twelve oh one.

Now they're all staying at the Burrow, Molly's demand, of course: him, Hermione, Tonks, Remus, Teddy, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, and his girlfriend Audrey. When you added that to the Weasleys who had not yet moved out, or in the case of Percy, walked out: Molly, Mr. Weasley, George, Ron, and Ginny, you got fifteen people and a Burrow that was nearing exploding point. Harry thinks that they're all lucky that Molly didn't invite the rest of the wizarding population to come and stay.

Twelve oh two.

On top of this, there's a floating population as well: Kingsley, who often pops in to report the latest happenings at the Ministry; Neville and his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, who seems to be an old friend of Molly's; the remaining members of the Order, who come in often to exchange news. Sometimes, Luna and her dad even come down from their house to visit. Molly claims it's good for them to be together, to help each other move on.

Twelve oh three.

Hermione is going to Australia next week to bring back her parents and restore their memories. She's decided she'll tell them everything; they'll want to know, she says. Ron has decided to go with her…he says it's for 'extra protection' but Harry knows the real reason, of course, and knows it has nothing to do with protection.

Twelve oh four.

He's giving up, knowing he's not going to get to sleep tonight. He throws off the covers and walks down several flights of stairs towards the cozy Burrow kitchen. He passes bedrooms and bedrooms, whose doors are shut and inhabitants asleep.

Except for one. The door is halfway open. He stops and peers inside. This is a room he remembers and knows all too well, though he has only been inside once. Ginny's room.

Posters odd collectors' items of the all witch Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies, cover the walls, though not as obsessively as in Ron's room. Alongside these are photographs; so many photographs that he doesn't remember from the one time he's been inside here. Muggle photos and wizarding ones both are present.

He suspects they've been put up in the aftermath of the war. For memories of happier times, perhaps. Ginny with her family, laughing together. Fred taking a little Ginny on a ride on his toy broom. Ginny and Luna. Ginny and Hermione. Hermione and Ron.

And he, he is everywhere. Sharing a joke with Ron. Talking to Hermione. Standing with Luna. Flying on the Quidditch pitch. In one familiar picture, he sees himself struggling against Gilderoy Lockhart, refusing to be dragged into view. In half the pictures he isn't even looking in the direction of the camera.

Harry smiles slightly. He suspects the photographic talents of Colin Creevey had been involved in the taking of these pictures. Colin Creevey, who is now dead. The smile disappears.

He steps into the room. Surprising. Ginny is not inside. The bedcovers lay in a crumpled mess on the floor, as though the person had very exasperatedly thrown them off. He continues down the steps.

Finally in the kitchen, he locates a pitcher of water and begins to hunt for a glass. The Burrow, not always known for its tidiness, is now in a state close to chaos. The belongings of fifteen people are scattered across the room: broomsticks, cauldrons, books, spectacles, umbrellas, rain boots, and on and on.

Harry looks outside the window. The moon is a waxing gibbous. It will be full in three days, maybe four. He wonders what Remus is going to do when full moon arrives. Molly is probably already making plans.

What is that, on the hill? It's just ahead of the Weasleys' house. Harry steps closer to look. A girl is sitting in the grass, gazing up at the stars. Her hair is spread all over her shoulders and down her back. Long, red hair. Ginny's hair.

He hasn't talked to Ginny, really talked to her, for so long. It's been too long, he thinks. And he has so much to say, so much he owes her. He decides he will take his water and join her on the grass.

The door creaks as he opens it and steps out. She turns around quickly, wand at the ready, relaxing when she sees who it is.

"Hey."

"Hey," she replies. She turns back.

Harry moves over and sits next to her. Not too close, but close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her slender body. Her hair is held away from her face by a delicate brown hairband which matches her eyes perfectly. There is a light dusting of makeup on her features. Not too much. Just…enough.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Nothing. Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same." He looks up at the night sky and the hills and the village below, searching among the lights for something to say. "Full moon's in three days."

"Yeah. I wonder, though…"

"What?"

"If Teddy will…you know. Be a werewolf or not."

He thinks on that for some time. He hopes, for both Remus and his godson's sake that he doesn't turn out to be one. Tonks would be sad for her child but would get over it. But Remus, he's not sure. He would blame himself for condemning his son to the same life that he had.

Maybe things would get better now, with Kingsley as Minister for Magic. At least, Harry thinks, he'll get rid of all those stupid anti-werewolf legislations and regulations.

"I haven't talked to you for a long time. It feels…odd," he confesses to her. She nods silently. "So what are you planning to do, now that we're Voldemort-free?"

Ginny tilts her head slightly. Moonlight illuminates her features and gives them a silver glow. "I don't know, really." Her voice is sort of flat, Harry notices. Unenthusiastic. Very uncharacteristic of her.

They sit in silence for a moment.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her voice cuts through the calm, still darkness. Stars twinkle brightly above them. He is a little confused now.

"Why didn't I tell you what?"

Her voice is quiet, but he hangs on every word she says. "Anything. Everything. Didn't you trust me?" Her voice catches.

Harry bites his lip. He knows she won't appreciate the truth. What to say?

"It wasn't like that," he says. "It's not like that, really. I just…"

"You just what? Am I not good enough to hear the famous Harry Potter's plans?" She has always been the one who stood by him, steadfast, and defended him. To hear the sarcastic tone in her voice as she says 'famous Harry Potter' is painful. "Did you think I wouldn't care? Or did you think I was too stupid to figure out you were up to something in the first place?"

Her voice is rising, louder and louder. "I saw you dead, Harry! I saw you _dead_! Do you think you were protecting me then?"

"Ginny…"

"You told Ron, didn't you? And Hermione. Honestly, didn't you even care what I'd think? What I'd feel?"

"It wasn't like that," he protests. "I was trying to protect you."

She laughs without humor, derisively. "Protect me! As if I need protection from you! Did you really think you'd be protecting me, Harry? Did you honestly think I'd sit quiet in Hogwarts like a good little student while Ron and Hermione and you were off who knows where doing who knows what? That is, if you even remembered me."

"No." he says. "I knew you wouldn't sit quiet."

"Of course you did. And how, exactly, did you know this?"

His voice is low as he answers. "Because I know you."

At this, Ginny sits up very straight and faces him. Her eyes are fiery and piercing. "You think you know me, do you? I don't know about that. But judging from how you've been acting lately, I don't really think you do."

She stands up to leave, but he catches her hand and pulls her back down. She recoils, her eyes blazing.

"Let go of me!"

He loosens his grip but doesn't let go. "Wait." She settles slowly back onto the grass, with an expression that reads 'this had better be good'.

"I do know a part of you, Ginny," he continues. "I know the Ginny who's brave and fierce and stands up for her friend. The Ginny who cares too much for her own good, who's selfless, and kind, and has a wonderful sense of humor. But I know that there's more to the Ginny I know. So we're both right."

Quiet. Silence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that."

"I should be sorry. I didn't tell you anything about what I was going to do."

"It's not your fault. You were…confused."

He smiles slightly. "I most certainly was."

"You make me sound better than I am."

Harry looks into her eyes. "No. To tell you exactly who you are…I don't think I know words to do that."

The corners of her mouth curve up slightly. They are looking into each other's eyes. She can practically hear the violins playing the romantic music that seems to yell at her 'snog him already!' No. She's not going to.

"So," she says, forcing her eyes away. "What are your plans now? Or are you just going to…you know, wing it?"

"I actually do have a plan, for once. I'm going to be an Auror."

How like him. She could have guessed it herself. Even after killing Voldemort, all the boy wants to do is go around chasing more dark wizards. She wonders, does he _try_to get himself killed?

"Of course you want to be an Auror. So you're going back to school then? Or are they letting you skip N.E.W.T.s?"

"No. Kingsley says I still have to take them."

"So you and I'll be in the same year, then." She grins and he smiles back. "Is Ron going back, do you know? Haven't had a nice heart to heart with him yet like I've just had with you…got to add him to my list of people to yell at."

"I think so," he answers. "I mean, he's planning to be an Auror too. Hermione's going back, obviously."

Ginny laughs. "She'd go even if she didn't have to, wouldn't she?"

There's silence again. But with the weight off both of their shoulders, it's a carefree, friendly silence. And Ginny again has to push away the voice that grows more and more insistent in her head.

"Guess what?" she says suddenly. To distract herself.

"What?"

Their hands are close. Very, very close. Like, millimeters away from touching, close. Harry's heart, he notices, is beating very fast. Why? It's _Ginny_, he thinks. Only Ginny.

"Well," she replies, drawing the syllable out. "Did you hear about the Holyhead Harpies having a position open for Chaser?"

"Yeah, I did, Esmeralda Robins went off to play for England, didn't she?"

"Yeah. And so they need a new Chaser, right?"

"Right…"

"So…I applied and they selected me to try out in two weeks! They think they can manage with their reserve player for the rest of the year, so if I make it I'll just play reserve until N.E.W.T.s are over, so…yeah."

He turns to her. "That's great! You'll make it, definitely, Ginny!" She watches him for approval. The smile on his face is genuine. Suddenly, her arms act on their own as her brain shouts at them '_stop__it!__' _Harry hesitates, watching her face, and returns her hug.

He inhales deeply. Chocolate, grass, and flowery perfume. That's what Ginny smells like. With a slight shock, he realizes that he has smelled the scent of the perfume elsewhere. Not on Ginny, though. In his Amortentia in sixth year. He doesn't really know what to think. Best not to even go there. He's sure she wouldn't want him, anyway.

"It's good to be on speaking terms again," he says quietly.

"I agree." And then, in a softer voice. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He replies. "I looked at you a lot of nights, when you were in your dormitory. On the Marauder's Map. I wondered what you were thinking about."

She laughs slightly. "You, mostly. What else would I be thinking of?"

The way she says it, so sure and definite, makes warmth spread through him. With it comes the steadiness and fire and passion that Ginny always brings to things. And that's what makes him say it.

"Ginny," he says softly. "I don't know how to really say it, but do you want to…do you want…"

"Harry…"

"Of course, it's okay if you say no."

"Harry."

"Perfectly okay. I mean I understand and everything and…"

"Harry!" He looks up at last. "God, you're stubborn. What on earth makes you think I'd say no?"

He shrugs helplessly. "I just…"

"Harry Potter, I was obsessed with you for a good four years of my life at the minimum. Do you honestly think I'm telling you no?"

"Er…no?"

She smacks him on the head. "Good. Only if you're planning on snogging me now, I'd say don't, because I'm pretty sure Mum has this whole place bugged. Not that she would mind- I just think she has her hands full with Ron and Hermione and Percy and Audrey already."

"Okay." He can think of nothing else to say, but he doesn't need to. They look at each other and understand.

_Ding-dong._

The clock inside the Burrow strikes one. He's been out for close to an hour; Ginny he doesn't know how long.

"Let's go back in," he says. "It's already one."

"Okay," she agrees. And they walk back into the house together, hand in hand. It's perfect, the feel of her hand in his. He couldn't wish for much more now.

_Score:__Harry-__1,__Life-__0._


End file.
